Forget "Sex and the City". Welcome to "Booze and the Valley"! DISCLAIMER: No names have been changed to protect the guilty.

Wednesday, January 7, 2009

Phat Ass

That’s the goal, anyway. I’ve decided it’s time (for the umpteenth time) to lose some chubbiness. Right now I just feel like a Fat Ass. I’ve let my self go. Go wide. So once again I’m getting back on the treadmill of torture, and will attempt to infuse my diet with foods that actually come from the earth.

I blame my weight gain on simple reasons: #1) We’re not in our 20’s anymore, Toto #2) Marriage* #3) Pity Party/Cubicle Life/Self-Indulgence. #1) I enjoy being in my 30’s, but long for the metabolism of my 20’s. I see those young, skinny girls, and I think, “Live it up, you tramps! Your day will come!” Sometimes I think it out loud. #2) Dating usually involves going out to eat. When you get married, your entertainment is going out to eat. #3) When you separate, you tend to bring food to your own pity party. Then you work in a “cubicle farm” and you tend to eat to break up the monotony of the job. If your brain isn’t being stimulated, your taste buds might as well be. There seem to be a lot of potlucks, and treats, and our vending machines take credit cards now, and Chinese is ordered by a group at least once a week and I just can’t say “No” to any of it. The afore mentioned reasons have left me chubby. The heaviest I’ve ever been. I’m not saying I’m obese, but do you have to be obese before you do something about your weight? I’m not 5 months pregnant, and I’m tired of looking like it.

I’ve started all of my past diets and workout routines with full blown enthusiasm (delusion) and 95.7% commitment. The newness quickly wears off, and the routine wears thin. I eventually go back to my slothen way of life. This time I just want to make exercising a part of my life, and eat better more often, and eat crap less often. Sounds simple, right? I’m not ready to delete Papa John’s from my speed dial, however.

I’m also trying to get healthy because I’ve seen the effects of poor health on the elderly. I don’t want to be the withered, bent over hag that doesn’t know her skirt is tucked into her pantyhose, or that her wig is on backwards. I want to be the hag who wears her lipstick a little too bright, her jewelry a little too flashy, and reads the Enquirer because it’s all true.